


haunt me, baby (i'll haunt you too)

by Astinidia



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Boys In Love, Choi San is Whipped, Established kang Yeosang/Choi Jongho, Family Secrets, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Abuse, M/M, San is a soft sad boi, Yungi flail in background, basically san is bored and works in a haunted house, halahala san makes an appearance, is san human: the fic, jongho the only braincell in the entire haunted house, maybe? i think, seongjoong appear for 2 hot seconds, so is Wooyoung, wooyoung may or may not be a cat
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:01:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26534797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Astinidia/pseuds/Astinidia
Summary: 'Seoul haunted house hiring!!!!!!!' The paper screams in neon green font, with exclamation points like it’s going out of fashion.'Bored? Tired? Need some fun? Come to 666th Avenue to scare them little kiddies. Wage negotiable.'San stares at the address for a several seconds. It makes sense, in some weird way, for a haunted house to have such an unlucky address. It’s just…the wording…There’s no way it can be real, he decides, but San folds the paper and puts it into his back pocket anyway. Maybe he and Hongjoong could get a good laugh out of it.(in which San is convinced (read: coerced) into working at a haunted house, where nothing is as it seems.)
Relationships: Choi Jongho/Kang Yeosang, Choi San/Jung Wooyoung, Jeong Yunho/Song Mingi, Kim Hongjoong/Park Seonghwa
Comments: 11
Kudos: 76





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My first ateez fic right here. this is actually a stress relief story I write between another 2 that you can look forward to lol
> 
> please don't kill me if I disappear for 6 months school is hard  
> (damn, who is even my bias anymore)  
> (i suddenly want to write seongjoong)

San is bored.

There's not many days he is, as he's usually busy with dance practice or finishing his art history homework or fluttering around Hongjoong’s with the singular mission to annoy the lights out of him. But now, it’s summer: dappled sunshine streams through the open window of his tiny flat, shining onto his squinted eyes from where he’s curled up in the middle of the living room.

Uni had let out a couple days ago. Students still mill about campus, some drunk on freedom and others burdened by summer classes, distinguishable by the presence of coffee cups in their hands and the re-emergence of dark circles under eyes. San does have a summer class, but it’s mostly essay writing and a decent amount of reading. Compared to his normal school year of condensed Arts hell, it’s not even worth mentioning, not when san considers five hours of sleep a luxury on those days.

Even the activity that takes up the rest of his time, the university dance club, led by Yunho, is in that odd limbo phase that happens right after a showcase when Yunho says he’s trying to make new choreography but really just wants the members to rest. San shifts so that his back catches the light and hugs his plushie closer.

He wouldn’t mind some intense dancing right around now. San knows from experience that dancing is great for venting frustrations, but better for alleviating boredom.

He knows many students would kill for the free time he has at the moment—Hongjoong might actually try to strangle him—and yet he’s not really in the mood to enjoy that feeling of time turning into taffy on a warm, sticky evening. There’s a fire under his skin, a need to be productive and there’s nothing in sight to vent it on. In one fluid movement, san abruptly flips to a standing position and places his plushie on the love seat. That’s it.

He slaps on a t shirt and a pair of ripped jeans, grabbing his phone and earbuds. He’s going on a run.

The air is crisp and cool even streaked by sunshine, the breeze fingers that ruffle his hair and lift the hem of his shirt in sudden mischief. Although his flat is quite a ways from downtown, there are plenty of people strolling the streets, couples and groups of friends that fill the air with laughter and energy.

San soaks in the calm afternoon, taking in the familiar sights of towering buildings that are characteristic in his city. Outside, it’s easy to forget how much he misses his friends, no matter how much he’ll never admit it. It’s always a bitter ache in his chest he’d normally dance off, but with the studio closed and Yunho busy, it’s started to rear it’s head again.

Hongjoong is now in a critical period for his production, spending days tweaking and editing tracks that San says will make him famous (“Hyung, you’ll be huge one day!!” “Get out, San.”) and surviving off of a mixture of fumes and Seonghwa. He’d nicely asked San to make himself scarce for a few weeks while he’s busy, and San understands, he really does: it just doesn’t stop the loneliness from crawling out of the box he had shoved it in and forgot to lock.

Yunho’s going through his own set of problems, busy with choreographing and dealing with his parents. There’s a huge fuss surrounding Yunho’s career choice, and san has on more than one occasion walked in on a teary Yunho, an unmade bed, and pile of garbage from his stress eating. San knows Yunho would appreciate the company, yet it doesn’t feel right to intrude on something so important.

Seonghwa is basically a stranger to San, when all he knows about him is that he’s Hongjoong’s boyfriend and is an impossible package of beauty, intelligence, and kindness. San knows from experience that Seonghwa can deal with his whining, but he can also tell Seonghwa’s probably too nice to tell him to stop. Besides, no one deserves his whining (other than Hongjoong, of course).

San sighs, scuffing his shoes against the sidewalk. He stops and stares at the sky, feeling people sift around him like a stream around a pebble. There’s something so wide and free about the sky, even though he can only see cracks of blue seeping between towering spires of glass. He misses it, the sprawling fields, endless spans of rolling green. The sea breeze, salty and fresh, tugging at his hair.

But he can’t go back. Can’t ever.

As his thoughts take a sobering direction, San feels a light pressure on his foot. He looks down to meet a pair of mischevious, golden eyes, a paw placed directly on San’s shoe. He’s the floofiest thing he’s ever seen, a creamy puffball with squinty, happy eyes rarely seen on a cat. San squats to eye level, and the cat meows at him, eyes at half mast. He noses into San’s palm with a wet nose, letting out a happy purr.

San’s seen him around before, though no one knows who is actually his owner. San doesn’t think it matters much, not when his fur is glossy and his belly full. San carefully runs his fingers through soft strands of fur that seem purple in the light, a noise of surprise escaping his throat when the cat gracefully hops onto San’s lap and presses his face into San’s shirt.

It’s nice, he thinks, he a warm, furry loaf in his lap as San perches on the side of the sidewalk. They stay like that for quite a while, with the cat playfully nipping at his fingers and licking San’s nose. When the sky begins to darken, he gives him a final scratch on the chin, then carefully places an armful of sulky cat on the ground.

“I’ll see you later, cutie,” San says, ignoring the odd looks of quickly dwindling passerby. He mews back at San, eyes curving into sweet crescents. The cat bounds away, turning just once to look at San, before disappearing into the streets with a wave of a bottle brush tail. He’s a friend, San likes to think, because he doesn’t hiss and claw at him like all the other cats do.

San is dusting off his pants and preparing to head home for dinner when he hears a crinkling noise beneath his feet. He lifts a foot to see a hastily folded paper, a very familiar pawprint in one corner.

_Seoul haunted house hiring!!!!!!!_ The paper screams in neon green font, with exclamation points like it’s going out of fashion.

_Bored? Tired? Need some fun? Come to 666 th Avenue to scare them little kiddies. Wage negotiable. _

San stares at the address for a several seconds. It makes sense, in some weird way, for a haunted house to have such an unlucky address. It’s just…the wording….

There’s no way it can be real he decides, but San folds the paper and puts it into his back pocket anyway. Maybe he and Hongjoong could get a good laugh out of it.

He ends up eating at a korean restaurant, treating himself to some samyetang and japchae in exchange for around 3 meals of instant food. The flavour reminds him of a warm, home cooked meal, the type his mother used to make for him after his dance practices. His father would always reach towards his mother and—

San swallows, the broth suddenly bitter on his tongue. He drinks a cup of barley tea in attempt to wash out the aftertaste, suddenly without appetite.

The paper burns in his back pocket.

* * *

_7:36 pm_

**Tiny Hyung**

Wtf Is this

**Sannie**

exactly what it looks like lol

Haunted house uwu

**Tiny Hyung**

Are you planning to

**Sannie**

what

**Tiny Hyung**

Join

I mean

**Sannie**

uhh

im pretty sure it’s a scam

**Tiny Hyung**

What if it’s not

**Sannie**

what if it is

wait

why does it sound like u want me to

**Tiny Hyung**

You’re not social much

Anymore

I guess

After That

I’m worried about you

So is your seonghwa hyung

**Sannie**

im fine

**Tiny Hyung**

No you’re not

Do this for me Sannie

Please 

(or I will tell Yunho exactly what happened at

your birthday party at 3:35 pm)

**Sannie**

…

fine

but only if u get seonghwa hyung to cook

actual meals

no skipping

ಠ_ಠ

**Tiny Hyung**

…

fine

I can’t believe you

**Sannie**

Yes u can

Seonghwa hyung can thank me later

**Tiny Hyung**

Why do I even bother

**Sannie**

bc you <3 me

**Tiny Hyung**

Only reluctantly

Brat

(San really does get a text from Seonghwa the next day, from a random number and two words: Thank you.)

* * *

_3:46 am_

**Tiny Hyung**

The poster design is shit

**Sannie**

Yeah who let them put that in public lmao

Goodnight Hongjoong hyung

**Tiny Hyung**

Good night demon spawn

_Tiny Hyung has left the chat._

**Sannie**

WAIT

??????

HYUNG DON@t G O

WAT DO YUO MEAndnkajriwkshs

* * *

San does a lot of things he’s usually can’t the next day. He sleeps in instead of going through his taekwondo routine, eats an actually healthy breakfast of eggs, salad, and wow, milk. As he sits at the counter, sleepily shoveling a bite of eggs into his mouth, he scrolls through his chat history with Hongjoong, smiling at the sheer awkwardness when they just met, a couple years ago. The poster taunts him mere centimeters away.

San spends the rest of the morning staring at the poster, willing it to spontaneously combust and burn his flat down with it. He’s not actually against the idea of extra pocket money and scaring people for fun, not when it’s so in line with San’s troublemaking personality. It’s obvious why he’s procrastinating now:

San hasn’t made new friends in _years._

Other than the initial introductions and friendmaking at the beginning of university, he’s stubbornly stuck to a small group of friends, and never bothered to really talk to anyone else. Sure, he can help Yunho teach a bunch of strangers how to dance, but it never felt natural like it was to Yunho. Seonghwa says it’s at odds with his clingy personality, and San has no choice but to agree. Maybe if it was couple years ago. Maybe.

San shakes his head, pouting at the poster like that would somehow save him. By the time lunchtime rolls around, San has resigned himself to his fate of cruel death by peer pressure. He _could_ skip, but he knows Hongjoong must be reluctantly eating (read: force fed, because Seonghwa is terrifying on a mission) by now and it’s wrong to break a promise, no matter how much eating should be a basic human right, _Hongjoong._

San smacks his cheeks, pulls on a white button-up and the bottom half of his Wonderland outfit (because he is broke and the closest thing he has to slacks is a performance outfit from one of the most incredible showcases ever with bomb choreography Yunho outdid himself—).

Let’s do this.

——-

San cannot do this.

In retrospect, 666th Avenue was laughably easy to find, when it’s the only street branching into the middle of nowhere. It shouldn’t even be possible in such a big city, when land is worth more than gold.

The haunted house is nothing like what he expects. For one, it looks absolutely normal, and very not haunted at all. It’s a typical two floor house, a perfect example of suburban bliss with a precisely manicured lawn and a rather droopy flowerbed. It further confirms his suspicion, that indeed he has been scammed.

Then he opens the door.

If San wasn’t nervous before, in blissful denial, he certainly is now. Compared to the average, normal exterior, the inside of the house is objectively terrifying. Crimson scratches mar the faded walls, cobwebs hanging in every corner. There’s a red stain that looks like blood near the entrance where San is standing, turning into a trail of blood as if someone had been stabbed then dragged away. The only source of light in the entire room is a single bulb, hanging on stubbornly as it flickers.

None of the details are particularly scary to San—instead, it’s the lack of _wrong_ he normally feels in staged scenes that prickles up his spine and raises the hair on the back of his neck. Everything looks natural in the way a lived-in kitchen might, _too_ natural when it shouldn’t be, when there’s a bloodstain on the ground and a hundred year cobwebs lining every surface.

“Hello,” A raspy voice says beside him. San jumps, a wash of cold down his back. He turns to see a rotting wooden booth tucked in a corner, just out of the range of the light bulb. As he steps closer, he realizes the origin of the voice is a young girl, seated in the booth and deceptively tiny.

At his gaze, she tilts her head at an impossible angle. “Welcome, guest. Are you here to experience the scare of a lifetime?” Her voice is monotone and cold.

In any other context it might have sounded cheesy or fake, but the light of the dim bulb glinting in her filmy eyes and flashes of a too wide smile sets San on edge like nothing else, except maybe—

“Nope!” He says, defaulting to the bubbly cheer he uses when he’s not sure what’s socially acceptable to say. He ignores the odd flickers of rotting skin and splattered blood that follows the girl, giving her a bright grin. “I heard you were hiring?” He lifts the poster.

The creepy, haunted atmosphere suddenly stops, a switch flicked. The girl’s head snaps back to more anatomically possible pose, her eyes rolling to consider San carefully.

“Ah, yes. We did need a demon.” San is shocked by the sudden inflection of her tone, before what she said begins to sink in.

“Demon?” San repeats. The girl’s eyes actually roll this time, turning uncomfortably far back in their sockets. She leaves the booth to walk around San, her worn skirt twirling around pale legs.

“Yes, demon. That’s what you are, aren’t you? Our last demon got exorcised.”

“What do you mean—ack!” San yelps, when her cold hands reach to squeeze his biceps. She only hums in return, nodding with satisfaction.

“You’ll do. Come tomorrow for an orientation, and we’ll talk about wage then.”

San blinks.

“I got the job?”

A sigh.

“You got the job.”

San _beams_. “I got the job!” the girl winces at him, stepping backwards as if distance will somehow spare her from San’s palpable Happiness. It doesn’t.

He grabs the girl (and whoa is she bony and is there supposed to be a joint there—) into a hug, whoops loudly, then sprints out the door. He’s not actually sure why he’s so happy, why there’s something singing in his veins, melting from his heart, why he knows nothing of anxiety beyond an echo.

The girl stands by the doorway, watching his retreating form with what might be amusement.

“You’ll fit right in.”

San is too far away to see the fluffy cream tail brush against the girl’s ankles, hear the soft _meow_ that follows her words. A pair of crescent eyes shine, bright in the darkening shadows of the house’s maw.

_He has to._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, well, well... this is certainly sooner than expected...  
> even i don't know what's happening, honestly  
> please comment and tell me what you think!!! I live for feedback!!!

San spends the rest of the day waiting for the buzz to fade.

It doesn’t. It fizzles under his skin, prickling through his veins. It’s not the same kind of excitement he feels before a showcase or a test—there’s none of that exhilaration mixed with a thread of nerves. This, this is a very unsubtle _pull,_ and he doesn’t know where it leads.

By the end of the day, the faint tug has turned into a mighty wrench. Where it was a gentle hum, it’s now an angry burn and flickers through his fingertips and alights his bones. San tosses and turns all night, back drenched in sweat and shadows behind his eyelids twisting him back from the edge of sleep. It’s only when somewhere around 4 am that he falls asleep, arms wrapped around shiber and for some reason, a backtrack of screaming noises from YouTube when nothing else worked.

San expects to be in terrible shape when he wakes up in the morning. He’s not like Seonghwa, who can tumble out of bed while looking like a runway model, but he’s not like Hongjoong either, who needs to be physically dragged out of bed and woken up with a force no less stronger than a bucket of ice water. He’s an inbetween person, he believes, like most of the average population of humans.

Well, not today.

San’s eyes snap open instantaneously, taking no effort at all to sit up and swing his legs over the side of his bed. There’s none of the normal sluggishness or slow start, where it takes him a hefty 20 minutes to remember how to speak, like he’s somehow jumped to the middle of the day back in bed. It’s with energy that he fixes a quick maybe-expired protein shake from a dusty jar, humming one of their showcase songs Hongjoong had made for them. _Good ’lil boy_ seemed to fit the sunny day, after all.

A faint prickle still flits over his skin in protest of the light, electric as it courses through his veins. San feels giddy, bouncing as he slips his head through a white tank and packs his bag. The girl (who turned out to be named Yoonah) had texted him somewhere during the night, telling him to wear as much red as possible.

San thinks it makes sense, given that his role is of a demon. Still, the red is a little…he’s been told _satanic._ he packs the outfit into his grandfather’s old bag anyway. It’s his favourite, black leather still sturdy and supple, spacious and full of far too many pockets. After checking himself out in the mirror for a second, he heads for 666th avenue. Something, not quite anticipation, churns in his gut.

* * *

The feeling only gets stronger the closer he gets. Some part of San insists he should be more worried about this unfamiliar attraction, but another part sings a song of _home home home_ so loud San can’t hear anything else.

San’s black boots crunch against the asphalt. They’re his favourite pair, a gift from Yunho during their Wonderland season and perfect for stomping. He figures it might be useful in a haunted house.

The road is empty as always, shrouded in so much fog San would be lost if it were not for the white stripe in the center or the road that San is standing on just because he can.

Eventually, the fog thins to reveal the same cookie cutter house, eaves freshly painted. It’s only his second time looking at this house, and yet every time San hates that he can’t sense anything off about it, anything that belied its average exterior at all.

It irks him more than the bloodstains or the cobwebs. He’s always been able to feel danger, noticeable enough that Yunho calls him his danger repellent (and runs to him whenever Hongjoong is angry, because it means San is now a Hongjoong Radar). It’s sensitive enough that it twinges a little even when San enters his own bedroom, faint enough to ignore.

The fact it isn’t going off in a _haunted house_ of all places is unsettling, fake or not. He doesn’t even remember a time where it wasn’t somewhere in the back of his head, and the absence is chilling. Now that he thinks about it, last time’s visit didn’t set him off either…

San does a full body shake, the buzzing now at a deafening volume. It’s his first day of work, and he’s not worried at all when he’s normally be crawling up the walls in anxiety.

Weird.

What’s even weirder is that the door opens by itself, like the universe is trying to one up itself on weirdness.

“Thank you?” San says, not exactly sure who he’s addressing. The house creaks…not ominously. Awkwardly and for no discernible reason at all San pats the doorway. He’s interrupted by a snort of laughter that makes him jump slightly.

The buzzing crescendos, and San can’t help but stare.

There’s a cat in the room. There’s just a cat in the room, so who laughed?

As if in answer, the cat bounds up to him in nimble steps, winding between his legs and a familiar bottlebrush tail high in the hair. San knows this cat. San has cuddled this cat.

Wasting no time, he picks him up, holding him a distance away. San’s body is blocking most of the morning light coming from the doorway, leaving faltering rays to illuminate pale, luminescent fur and shining, golden eyes. Soft paws kick lightly at the air. “It’s you! Cutie!” The fluffy cat hangs from his hands, greeting him with a high pitched meow.

San leans close until he’s nose to nose, admiring the flecks of silver in the cat’s wide eyes. The cat reminds him of poofy cinnamon roll, with dainty paws and downy tail. When their noses touch, the cat suddenly bucks in San’s grip, letting out the laugh San had definitely heard earlier. It sounds distinctly nervous, and San would be far more amused if the cat did not just _laugh._

_Like a human._ San stares at the cat. The cat stares at San.

“Hey, It’s a newbie!” A loud, deep voice interrupts, booming through the room. The owner of the voice pauses, taking in the scene, before he squawks in indignation. “What are you doing with Wooyoung?! Put him down, down!”

San turns to regard the man (who he notes to have bright, red hair) with wide eyes. “He’s Wooyoung?” San asks, shaking the feline in his arms slightly. Wooyoung yowls, and San is unsure how he knows it’s annoyed but not directed at him.

“Yes, he is, and he’s been told not to approach strangers—“ the man abruptly inhales, squinting at San with an inscrutable look in his dark eyes. “You look familiar.”

San squats to place Wooyoung on the ground, running gentle hands over Wooyoung’s head. The cat purrs and presses his face into San’s palm, tail tapping against the wooden floor. The man, who San realizes is Yunho Size, casts a sharp look at Wooyoung that is promptly ignored.

“I’d hope so,” San says, still squatting. “I’m your new coworker. Are you the Mingi Yoonah mentioned?” Wooyoung’s ears flick at the mention of the names.

Immediately, the tension melts from Mingi’s face, and the heaviness in the air San hasn’t noticed before disappears without a trace. _What the fuck._

“You must be San! Yes! I’m Mingi!” Mingi’s face splits into a bright grin, his eyes nearly disappearing with the force of his smile. It’s only years of Yunho’s general tallness that prevents San from stepping back when Mingi gets real close to San’s face, draping a long arm over his shoulders. It’s muscular, but cold in a way no arm should be. Wooyoung claws at Mingi’s pants, hissing and spitting with sudden fury.

Mingi only waggles his eyebrows at the cat, laughing when Wooyoung bares his fangs. San has no idea what is happening.

“Don’t worry, Wooyoungie! I’m not going to steal your man,” Mingi whispers, or at least he thinks he does. San can hear every single word. He dismisses most of it by assuming it’s an occupational hazard. (wait, if it is, will San get it?)

Wooyoung stops spitting, a suspicious gleam in his eyes, carefully hiding his fangs in warning. It probably was meant to be threatening, but San just wants to squish Wooyoung’s cheeks and coo at him. It’s one of the pitfalls of being a cat person.

Done raining fury upon Mingi, the cat pads up to San’s legs, pawing petulantly at his jeans. San reaches down to pick him up, Wooyoung turning limp as San cradles him in his arms. A light purr comes through San’s oversized hoodie. It’s Mingi that snaps them out of it, going to clap San’s shoulder then thinking twice at wooyoung’s glare. By now, San thinks Mingi should consider choosing his battles.

“Let’s start our tour. Yoonah’s out today.” Mingi finally says, after an intense starting contest with Wooyoung. He leads them down a dark, claustrophobic hallway, lit by the occasional candle set into the wall. They seem almost red as San passes, the flame spurting with red sparks when San is right next to it. It happens to all the other candles, too.

San is numb.

Mingi looks at the candles, confusion on his face, then back at San, who gives a very confused smile.

“I guess it’s because you’re the demon,” Mingi scratches the back of his neck. The faint red light doesn’t reflect off of his eyes. “Anyway, this hallway leads towards a set of rooms, each with their own worker inside. We have four rooms so far, with an empty room for you!”

Mingi gives San finger guns, at which Wooyoung in San’s arms scoffs. Loudly. Mingi once again picks a fight with a foreseen conclusion.

“Why don’t you do it then, Wooyoung?” Mingi pouts. It should look weird on him, but San has long learned that pouting works no matter who does it (Hongjoong argues it makes no sense on San, and San has no idea what it means). The fact that Mingi is cute in that bumbling idiot way helps.

Wooyoung snuffs at Mingi, turning up his nose. Mingi’s eyes drift towards San, as subtle as Hongjoong trying to try to flirt. As in, not at all. He shoots Wooyoung a meaningful grin.

“I’ll get this done quickly so you can get on with your da—ow, stop that! Owowow!!”

The tour continues without much fanfare, except now Mingi has three scratches across an arm that colour blue but don’t bleed, Mingi with the kind of nonchalance that said it happened too often. He explains that the haunted house is planned one way, where the exit can only be found after experiencing all the rooms, as they lead to each other in a maze. Wooyoung interjects occasionally with a meow or a cute noise here and there, and San nods along like he understands perfectly. Wooyoung is far too adorable to ignore and San is unashamed to admit he kind of wants to kidnap him.

The hallway (wow is that a long hallway, what the hell) finally ends, leading to an old, wooden door. The doorknob is covered in dried, flaking blood, and there are rough, desperate scratches hewn into chipping black paint of the wood.

_Yeosang’s doll house,_ an embossed plate reads, hanging on by a single tack. It should be frightening. All San can see is near miss spelling mistake, a couple of scratches turning _Yeosang_ to _Yeosnag._ Wooyoung, right on time, lets out an eerily human snicker. San absently runs a couple of fingers through Wooyoung’s fur, and Wooyoung shuts up to beam at San, squinty and sweet. Judging from Mingi’s expression, it’s a big deal.

Mingi gapes. “Wooyoung, it’s only been, like, an hour?” His voice drops towards a whisper (or what he thinks is but is just normal speaking volume). Wooyoung blows a raspberry at Mingi. San did not know cats can blow raspberries.

He’s spared the embarrassment of copying a frozen frame in a lagging movie by the door swinging open by Itself, groaning an echoing screech. It’s louder than it should be in the near silence.

Mingi walks in, completely unconcerned. It reminds San of the mysteriously opening door at the entrance, so he gives the door a half-hearted pat.

The room further in is…normal. To call it as a bedroom is putting it lightly, to say the least. A four poster bed sits in the center, with drapes of tasseled velvet and a bedspread of silk. There’s an ornate wardrobe in the corner, accompanied by a dressing table with a cracked mirror. Because it absolutely must, there’s a crystal chandelier that illuminates the room in a warm glow that only makes San feel cold. There’s a startling amount of life to the otherwise fancy room—a rather out of place skateboard tucked into one corner, the blanket bunched in a pile, several articles of clothing strewn across the Persian rugs.

And in the center of it all, sitting on a rocking chair, is…a doll. A doll dressed in a flowy oversized top, laced with red ribbons and a lace choker adorning an elegant neck. It can’t be anything else, San thinks, because its face is flawless, skin pale and unmarred except for a smear of red on the temple that only brings out the doll’s glassy, gemstone eyes. The doll’s face, a map of perfectly delicate features set in emptiness, skirts just around the edge of uncanny valley.

It’s clearly a doll.

A doll Mingi goes to shake. A doll that says, “What the fuck, Mingi.” In perfect deadpan. San, by now, has transcended the point of shock to intense curiosity. It’s such a bizarre feeling to see the something that was perfectly still animate, and San would think he’s dreaming if not for the comforting weight of Wooyoung in his arms.

“Yeosang, meet our newest coworker!” Mingi gestures airily at San. He then hits his arm in the doorway and hisses in pain. Yeosang, with practiced ease, rolls his eyes.

“You must be San,” Yeosang says, standing up. As he comes closer, San notices his neck has been rendered as a twist joint, similar to that of an actual doll. It’s the most impressive work he’s ever seen, and that’s saying something when he deals with Hara’s showcase makeup often. “Welcome to our home.”

Yeosang smiles, a tiny sweet thing that turns his face from angel statue to actual angel. It doesn’t take away from the piercing light in Yeosang’s eyes. It feels a lot like Yeosang is weighing him, placing him on some golden scale to and finding him wanting. It suffocating, Yeosang peering into his very soul.

Whatever Yeosang sees, San is let off the hook. He secretly lets out a little breath when Yeosang’s gaze wanders to Wooyoung, dozing off in San’s arms. An eyebrow raises into light brown hair. Wooyoung’s tail immediately puffs up, a pipe cleaner of light fur. Yeosang only sighs, crossing his arms and radiating disapproval. He points straight at the indignant cat. “We’ll be having _words_ , Wooyoung.”

Wooyoung huffs angrily, sitting up to swat at Yeosang who is, might San add, several meters away. Yeosang, now seated back on his chair, unwittingly exchanges a look of exasperated fondness with San, until San catches himself. This is dangerous when he’s known these people for a grand total of an hour. Too much to lose.

_Attachment is a curse. A curse is more than you deserve—_

“You okay bro? I know Yeosang has that effect, but I’ve never seen Yeosang be so nice to someone before!!” Mingi’s voice slams into San, and he unconsciously tightens his arms around Wooyoung. “I’m okay,” he whispers in response to Wooyoung’s quiet _nya._ If Mingi notices it, he doesn’t show it.

“That was being nice?” San asks, back at normal volume. He pats himself on the back for the great recovery. Mingi nods, guiding San towards an ingeniously hidden door right behind the black one. The passage entrance is tight—Mingi manages to hit his head twice trying to get inside.

“Yeah—ow—that was nice. When I first came, he was like a block of ice, y’know. Terrified me back to the afterlife.”

San squints. “He didn’t strike me like that. Is your head okay?”

“Don’t worry. It happens a lot. Besides, it’s not like I can die.” San decides not to question the validity of that last statement. After a minute of crawling made significantly harder by Wooyoung in his arms, they exit into another room. A twisted parody of a butcher’s shop, apparently, because you can’t have a haunted house without something so very graphic.

Mingi grins, hopping behind the counter happily. “It’s my room!” He shouts, perfectly at ease among (fake?) severed pig heads and loops of meat. There’s a massive meat cleaver stuck to the bloody cutting board, body parts stabbed through with metal hooks hanging from the ceiling just high enough that they brush San’s hair. When Mingi walks through them, the light from the candles on the walls makes his eyes and the points of the hooks glint, shining on his pale teeth and the whites of his eyes.

If San had thought Mingi didn’t belong in a haunted house, he certainly thinks he does now. Even in a casual tee, he _looms_ over San like a wraith _._ San wonders what it says about him that he’s used to these uncanny happenings already.

“We have several secret passages in our house, which I’ll show you when you start working. Normally you’d go through Wooyoung’s room first.”

San starts, glancing down at Wooyoung, who blinks at him with innocence.

“Wooyoung has a room?” Mingi nods at Wooyoung.

“He does. He’s one of us scare buddies.” Mingi reaches out to stroke wooyoung’s head, heedless of his hisses. To wooyoung’s credit, he gives in with a yowl and a sullen meow.

San clears his throat. “How many workers and rooms are there?”

Mingi stops to count his fingers. “Umm, you’ve met yeosang, there’s Wooyoung, me, and Jongho, who rooms with Yeosang and does sound. You haven’t met him yet. He’s shy.”

It’s a lot smaller than San expects. Then again, he’s not sure what he expects from a random haunted house in the middle of nowhere.

“How many customers a day?”

“Ten to twenty. They come and when they need a scare.” Mingi smirks; it’s not remotely reassuring. “If you’re worried about your wage, it should be a pretty good sum.”

“Oh, no. I’m not here for the money.” San really isn’t. He’s here to relieve boredom, and so far, it’s been… _interesting._ Not boring for sure. Something tells him it’s never boring here.

Mingi gives him an indecipherable look. “Sure, man. Whatever you say.” San and Wooyoung sigh in unison.

* * *

San gets his own room. On his first day.

“I have my own room,” he says, waving an arm at the bare walls of the small space, “on my first day.”

“Yes.” Mingi states, like it makes perfect sense. “It’s even the second last room, one of the best. We folks need to stick together, no?” San thanks god (or Seonghwa) Wooyoung had left with a goodbye lick earlier, so his hands are free to _smack mingi._

“What if I trash the place? Set it on fire? Did you even ask?” San asks, partly in morbid curiosity and partly in disbelief. Mingi shrugs, but the movement is so exaggerated he might as well launch himself into space. Yunho would like him. Yunho would like a lot of people, but Yunho would _Like_ Mingi.

“Dude. You haven’t yet when you could’ve, which means you won’t. I think. Demons are a rowdy bunch.” San would pull out his hair if he wasn’t so sure it would fall out on its own after Hongjoong’s ‘genius’ dye job.

“And the permission?” He chokes out. Mingi laughs, far too loud for inside voice. San just knows Seonghwa would have the time of his life trying to mute him with a _shh, quiet._

“Everyone who works here owns part of the house. It’s your room now.” San feels his eyebrows tick upwards. How generous. It’s so generous it feels like a scam.

“It’s not a scam.” Mingi, now that Wooyoung is gone, slams a hand on San’s back. Now, San is no body builder, but years of dance and workouts have made his body solid, at least. Therefore, it makes no sense that a single slap from Mingi sends him straight into a wall. It knocks the air right out of his lungs.

“Oh hell, are you okay? Damn, I didn’t think you were so fragile, man, I don’t know human or demon cpr—!”

San raises a hand, catching his breath. His whole body aches a little, just barely manageable. Mingi’s lucky his puppy impression is up to scratch, or else San would’ve dropkicked him to Sunday. “I’m fine,” he says, after several seconds of gasping.

“Sorry.” The kicked puppy face is back and at nearly Yunho Level. San can’t bear to see him cry.

“It’s fine,” San answers, patting Mingi’s back. He’s not sure when but now the scene looks like _San_ hurt Mingi. It takes a random peppermint San found in his pocket and reassurances that no, he’s not hurt (ish) for Mingi to get back up to continue the tour.

They leave San’s new room through the official passageways, which happen to look the same as the one that leads to Yeosang’s room.

“We don’t have a lot of rules around here,” Mingi’s still sniffling slightly. “Just, don’t hurt the customers no matter how mean they are, and don’t touch them when scaring them either. And..” he hesitates. Runs a hand through his hair.

“You might get punched.” He finishes, sneaking a glance at San.

“What?”

“Some people get violent when scared. It doesn’t happen often to me—“ _probably because that room is terrifying,_ San thinks, “—but mostly to Yeosang. Lucky Jongho’s around.”

“When will I get to meet them? Jongho, I mean.”

Mingi taps his chin. “I don’t know. Today and tomorrow is our day off, but it’s Jongho that makes the creepy music for the house. He’ll show up. I think.”

“Very reassuring,” San says dryly. Mingi grins, looping an arm around San’s shoulders with easy familiarity.

“Any final questions?” Mingi asks, when they trek back into the foyer with one less Wooyoung.

San thinks. “How do you know I’ll be scary?” Mingi’s never met him before, and yet, he’s already scored a job with pay (??) and even a room to himself for scaring people. That’s some confidence.

“Demons are naturally scary.” Mingi shoots back without pause. He suddenly perks up, tapping San’s shoulder (it’s not so much tapping as smacking with the force of a sledgehammer). “Oh, don’t forget to spookify your room. Like, your personal pentagram and some blood would be perfect, and some sort of red outfit.”

San smiles blankly. “…yes.” By red, he hopes the one he brought will…suffice.

“You’ll be starting work on Monday, so get those decorations down by then, ‘Kay?” San nods on autopilot, and he’s alone.

He whips his head around the room. No bright red hair. No human tree. No Mingi. Maybe San has finally gone insane thanks to eating too much of Hongjoong’s cooking.

Huh.

“I guess we’ll be working together! Nice to meet you!” San shouts. “I like your hair! This house is great!” He runs out of things to say after complimenting the…air quality.

There’s no answer beyond the creaking of the door sliding open.

“I hope I know what I’m doing,” San says to empty air and flees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did you like it? :D


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